


Lover's touches in solitary moments

by WhatButAVillain



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale-as-Crowley touching himself, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 04:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19783582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatButAVillain/pseuds/WhatButAVillain
Summary: tadfield-advertiser prompt: He'll never ever admit it but one of the first things Aziraphale did in Crowley's vessel was absolutely masturbate in front of a mirror just to see if Crowley looked as spectacular well pleasured and undone as he did in his fantasies.





	Lover's touches in solitary moments

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a prompt over at the Tadfield-advertiser kink meme. https://tadfield-advertiser.dreamwidth.org/517.html?thread=244997&posted=1#cmt265989

He had been sober for several hours. Several hours spent inside his best friend’s body. Crowley, wearing Azirpahale’s body, had left slightly fewer hours ago than they had switched their faces. The act necessary but putting them both slightly wrong-footed. Aziraphale was not used to the ganglyness of Crowley’s limbs or the looseness of his joints however he understood better how Crowley was able to sway his hips like that and stay standing. His body did it naturally. Now Aziraphale stood looking in the full bodied mirror across from Crowley’s bed at his best friend’s face, the face he had fallen in love with years ago, too many years to count but an embarrassingly long time ago. 

He was struck by a sudden need to see more of the body he had come to love. It had always been so covered up whenever they had met, the fashions of the time demanding long flowing robes or layers of cloth and one horrible memory of suits of armour only revealing his beautiful deadly eyes. Slowly, Aziraphale started unbuttoning the waistcoat that was on Crowley’s body and took a moment to wonder at what he was doing but the yearning to see what he had been missing for years quickly won out. The temptation of Crowley even when not in his body too much for the angel to handle.

Aziraphale quickly shucked the jacket and tie, scarf, thing that Crowley insisted was fashionable but Aziraphale didn’t have a name for. The waistcoat was next and then he paused. One last chance to back out but quickly dismissed as he removed Crowley’s shirt and dropped it to the floor with the rest of Crowley’s clothes. Avoiding meeting Crowley’s eyes in the mirror, Aziraphale took the time to admire the long planes Crowley’s torso, the dusky nipples hardening in the cool air of the flat and the space where, were they human, a navel would have been. He bit his lip gently so as not to draw blood with Crowley’s sharpened fangs and followed the trail of red hair down Crowley’s stomach that disappeared into the top of Crowley’s jeans.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s hands came up to undo the button of his jeans and slowly dragged the material down and over the bulge that had developed in his pants. Crowley was not wearing boxers. Crowely was not wearing briefs. In fact Crowley was not wearing anything under the tight material of his jeans. Perhaps a better angel would have been able to resist but Aziraphale was, as the quartermaster had reminded him, a ‘pathetic excuse for an angel’. Shaking his head sharply, Aziraphale took several steps back until his knees hit the bed behind him. 

His hands shake slightly as they come up to run over the planes and angles of Crowley’s torso and his jutting hips. His breath comes out in a breathy moan as he watches Crowley’s hands trace a path up to pinch at his pebbled nipples and Crowley’s mouth falls open. Aziraphale sits abruptly and his head drops back to see a mirror hanging over the bed as well and takes a moment to contemplate why Crowley would want a mirror there before shaking off the thought. Laying back, Aziraphale admires the contrast between Crowley’s pale flesh and the black of his sheets and the shock of red at his head. 

The hands continue their journey abusing his nipples and gently, barely touching, the hands run down the crease of Crowley’s thighs causing Crowley to break out into goose-flesh. His desire becoming palpable Aziraphale looks to the one place he has refused to allow his eyes or hands to travel and eyes the hard cock at the apex of Crowley’s legs. Swallowing hard, Aziraphale allows the hands to gently trace the length of the hard flesh. His fingers dance down the hot length of Crowley’s cock and circle the head. Staring hungrily, Aziraphale enclose the hard flesh in a tight grip and strokes once down the length, his hips bucking into the circle of his hand. Giving a harsh moan, Aziraphale’s gaze travels to Crowley’s face to watch the ecstasy play out on the face of his beloved as his hand continues to stroke and the drops of pre-come are used to slick the way for his hands to move faster. 

Crowley’s mouth is open and his head thrown back into the black silk of the sheets, a flush starting in his cheeks makes it way down into his chest. Crowley’s loose hips are bucking up into the circle of Aziraphale’s fist as Aziraphale’s other hand dances down past the hard flesh in his grip to tumble his balls in his hand and down further to let one miraculously slick finger work it’s way inside the tight ring of muscle of Crowley’s ass. His hips push instinctually back onto the fingers probing behind him and forwards into the waiting circle of Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale finally meets Crowley’s eyes in the mirror above him as the room is filled with the slickened sounds of flesh moving on flesh and the pants and moans of Crowley’s voice calling out his own name. Before finally his hips give one last erratic thrust and his hand is coated in his own sticky seed. 

Aziraphale lays there panting for several moments before slowly removing Crowley’s slick fingers from his own ass and brings his other hand up to his mouth to lick clean the taste of Crowley’s seed. With a wave of his hand the rest of him is cleaned up and he sits tiredly up to meet his own gaze in the mirror across the bed. Swallowing loudly, Aziraphale stands and begins to get dressed again, thanking the fewer layers that Crowley favors this time period. He has an appointment to keep with Crowley at St. James’ Park and he cannot be late. 


End file.
